Tangled
by PeanutNinja
Summary: Her life is careening off course, and these days he finds it hard to stay afloat. Can love fix broken people? The lives of former Hogwarts students intertwine after the war. Trigger warnings: self harm, drug/alcohol abuse.


And now it has started snowing. The flakes fall down like big fat patches of cold, painting my face, freezing my hands, but it's good because it freezes away the emotion. I think. I walk down the street, trying not to slip. If I focus on the pavement that is becoming rapidly speckled with splotches of white - it stops me thinking about the catastrophe. I stifle a chocking moan that wants to bust open my chest.

The Christmas lights are still up, glittering the street and they're pretty. I'm not thinking coherently, some part of me recognises this. The other hails a cab. "Where do you want to go?"

"Leith," I blurt out before Morningside comes to mind. He takes me down Ferry Road. It is the longest road in the world, and occasionally there are Christmas lights. These lights distract me from the knowledge that I am nowhere near them. I shouldn't be anywhere near them, or her. The affair is done, she fucked it up and left me here. I stare at a neon fucking reindeer like it's the new messiah because I don't want to think anymore.

The streets in Leith are louder with the drunk, the merry, the people who still love and know how to be loved back. But I'm being over dramatic, she always said I got over dramatic when I was drunk. I avoid them all and rush back to my apartment. It is a cracker box, a cosy cracker box. She liked it, does that mean I need to burn the place to the ground?

I dump my wet jacket on the couch, tomorrow Hermione can deal with that. I kick my shoes off, and something smashes but I don't care. I switch on my plastic Christmas tree which she never really understood but found amusing. Yes, the flat is now cosy, hemmed in with a couch, an over flowing bookcase and horrendous knitting. I grab yesterday's breakfast and drink it hurriedly. I was supposed to be with her, but instead I'm here, at Christmas, alone.

Later in a drunken rage I rip up the Christmas tree, screaming, yelling until my neighbour comes up stairs and tells me he'll call the police if I don't "shut ma fuckin mooth like, some people are waitin for santa an tha'". This silences me, it is later I realise they can't be 'waitin for santa' as it's only the 4th of December. But I sit, swigging the wine, perfectly content to try and erase the last few hours of my life. The room is spinning, but I need to finish this.

There's a knock at the door, I stagger to answer it. When did I get so drunk? "Come on Granger," the voice is not drawling, but it still brims with disdain.

"Why are you hear?" I slur, leaning onto the door frame. Maybe he'll think I'm just tired. I am tired actually.

"I heard what happened, you can either stay here and potentially get alcohol poisoning, or come with me" his voice is flat. I drain the rest of the wine in my hand. The world swings, and suddenly I am in his arms, looking up at him.

"Oops," I giggle, his face is strained. Who gives a shit?

"You did a number on this place" he remarks, and closes my door, "Colloportus," he mutters and the lock clicks.

That's all he says before I'm pushed through a small, uncomfortable tube. It squeezes my stomach, and when I shoot out the other end I throw up on the floor. He waits until I am done.

"I'm sorry, I, I'll clean that up" I fumble and reach for my wand be he takes it from me.

"Forget it, get to bed, sleep it off" he says quietly, within seconds the vomit is gone. I walk to the door, then turn back to face him.

"Why are you doing this?" my brow furrows. He shrugs.

"Damned if I know," he says. I sway there for a few minutes longer.

"Why did I get drunk again?"

"You still have a reason?!" I don't like his tone. I tell him this. "She left you, after she cheated on you," he watches, stony faced at my reaction. It comes back hazily. Not the memory, that's long gone, but the pain, the hurt, the anger. "The flat's dry" he says after watching the emotions play on my face. I want to talk, but my mouth is full of marbles. As I said, I'm really fucking tired. I go to bed.

* * *

I walk to the kitchen and pick up my phone, not all muggle devices are bad. I light a cigarette and drag my hand through my hair. I hit "call" and listen to the shrill rings. "The fuck you calling me for? It's three in the morning?!"

"I have her here, I went by her flat to see if she was okay, remember?" although he might not remember if he'd already had his first dose of nightmares.

"Is she okay?"

"She was shitfaced, upset, angry, but other than that okay," I take a drag of my cigarette, "She passed out just no-"

"Passed out!" Harry's voice rises, and I put my hand to my head. I really cannot be fucking dealing with this right now. But I am. I stumble a little, I'm exhausted. "Are you sure you are the best person to be with her?" he asks.

"I'm clean if that's what you're asking," I say through gritted teeth. I say it for the billionth time.

"I know that."

"Yeah but you don't accept it. I'm clean. She isn't. This is the way the world has worked, I know you don't think it's fair but," I pause for a second "I just called to let you know she is safe, and I think both of us will be relieved to know that I an hanging up because I need to sleep," I hear Harry laugh a little down the phone, it's shaky, almost deranged.

"You don't get nightmares anymore?" he asks softly. I swallow.

"No, night Potter."

"Night Malfoy," I hang up, through my phone on the table and run a shaking hand through my hair. I go to the room with a glass, the room is just across from hers, dimly lit by a lamp I found at a muggle shit sale or whatever. I toss some liquid confidence into the glass. Of course she doesn't have to know it's here, that would be like sticking a smackhead in a hospital supply room. Methadone, dilauded, valium, morphine, vicoden, oxycontin, codeine, and another shot. I'm not supposed to think like this anymore.

My problem is that there is still a part of me that gives a shit. I light a cigarette and scroll through my phone. Most days I don't. But then most days the past doesn't come back drunk and spewing in my living room. Another shot. I'm not nearly tipsy, but it will have to do.

I change and lie down in my pjamas. Who the fuck am I kidding? The nightmares will never stop.

* * *

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. I apologise for any grammar and spelling mistakes.  
**

 **I previously posted this, however I got a friend to read it and she said it was like being thrown into the middle of a story. This will be continued, and it is vague just now I just didn't want to spell everything out from the get go. It will become clearer later on if you feel like sticking around :).**


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